


with starlight in his veins

by ironwoodsfairy



Series: We Were Able To Be Still [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Past Abuse Mention, Past Armed Robbery Mention, Past Minor Character Death Mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:40:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25026334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironwoodsfairy/pseuds/ironwoodsfairy
Summary: When he’d gone to the museum in an attempt to jumpstart what lingering brain cells he had left, the last thing Sokka expected to leave with was a budding romance.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: We Were Able To Be Still [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1812253
Comments: 14
Kudos: 259





	with starlight in his veins

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I was playing around with some fic ideas, and then suddenly I wrote a sequel to "upon a canvas kissed by sunlight." I went back and tweaked it a tiny bit - just a couple of phrases to help tie in my new idea of it being a Reincarnation/Soulmate AU.
> 
> RETURNING READERS, you might want to reread the first part but you can also get away with not.
> 
> NEW READERS, you will be all set to go! 
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this, I've never expanded on a one-shot before, but I believe this will become a series.
> 
> Much love <3

When he’d gone to the museum in an attempt to jumpstart what lingering brain cells he had left, the last thing Sokka expected to leave with was a budding romance.

Looking back, he supposed their first date was moments after they met, in the little cafe where they talked over a sandwich each and an immeasurable amount of tea for so long that, by the time they left, the only people still in the museum were the security guards, the housekeepers, and the pair of them. They’d snapped back to the world around them as a worker began emptying the trash can nearby, suddenly noticing that the sky outside the large arched windows was closer to dusk than sunset, and the stars had begun to shine. Giggling to themselves with rapidly reddening cheeks, they’d cleaned up their table, apologized to the staff they undoubtedly kept late, and shuffled out the doors and to the little bar down the street.

There, with an unnerving ease and an aching familiarity that almost scared them both, Sokka learned of Zuko’s mother and how she found herself unable to save him and his sister when she fled his abusive father, how he still held on to the boyish hope that she would return for him even though he was a man grown, how he’d finally run away nine years ago when the scar on his face was born from what he promised himself was the last of his father’s rage he’d ever experience, and how he’d then moved in to his uncle’s apartment above his cafe and worked there as a waiter while he serviced vehicles on the side.

For every part of Zuko’s past he learned, Sokka shared his own, from the death of his mother in an armed robbery, how he had been left to care for his grandmother and sister when his father had been called upon by the navy, how he had returned with a lover who became a second father to them both, and how he’d chosen to study art because his mother loved it, too, and he was just so damn _tired_ of war and death and bloodshed and loss in a world where people could create - could _love_ \- instead.

In the span of a few hours, the pair had evolved from strangers, to acquaintances, to friends. Over the next few weeks, their friendship blossomed into something more, encouraged by lingering glances and achingly soft stolen touches that cooled and inflamed at every turn, and carried with them the memory of distant stars.

Sokka had passed his art final with flying colors, and with Zuko’s permission, had submitted the portrait of him he’d started in the museum alongside the two elderly gentlemen he’d sketched earlier that day to the showcase. At first, he was surprised when Zuko asked to be there to support him, but his shock was quickly replaced by an ache in his chest he was still too scared to name.

So they stood there, the brush of a shoulder and the bump of an elbow tethering them together among the mingling waves of friends and family. When he entered, Sokka caught his father’s eye from across the hall and smiled, fighting the nervousness from his expression as his heart began to race. His father would be more than accepting, he knew, having found the second love of his life in Bato, but he and Zuko had only known each other for a few weeks, and hadn’t quite named what they were yet, _who_ they were to one another. Were they friends? Boyfriends? Almost-boyfriends? Nothing had _happened_ between them yet, but the tension and desire and compassion ached to be known, to be shared in the open.

The labels danced across his mind in rapid succession as Hakoda made his way through the crowd, a brilliant smile on his face.

“Sokka!” He opened his arms wide, folding his son into them so strongly he was lifted off the floor. 

“I- _HHNNG_ -” Sokka yelped, gasping for air. He thumped his father on the back, half laughing even as he struggled against the pressure on his ribs, and suddenly found the floor beneath his feet again. Quickly, he smoothed out the fresh wrinkles in his button down shirt, and adjusted the rolled sleeves.

“It’s good to see you, my son,” Hakoda’s voice rumbled. He turned to Zuko, who had stepped back a pace with a smile on his lips, but a sadness in his eyes. “And who might this be?”

Sokka’s heart picked up again, but as he opened his mouth to offer an introduction, Zuko did it for him. “Hi, I’m Zuko. It’s nice to meet you, sir.” He held his hand out.

“You too, I’m Hakoda, just Hakoda though, no ‘sirs’ needed,” he replied with a smile, shaking his hand. He glanced over Zuko’s shoulder and surveyed the portraits on the wall. “These are beautiful, Sokka. Truly beautiful,” he whispered. “Your mother would be so proud. Gran Gran and Katara, too.”

Sokka swallowed hard, trying to keep his emotions tucked away just enough so he wouldn’t break down then and there. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

Hakoda smiled and turned back to the portrait of Zuko, his expression soft as he traced the lines with his eyes and glanced at them standing side by side, and Sokka wondered if his father could already tell.

When he offered to take them to dinner, Hakoda hadn’t let them refuse. He followed behind them on the drive to the local diner, and Sokka decided to make use of the time alone.

One hand on the steering wheel, the other was entwined with Zuko’s on the console between them. “You okay?” he mumbled, voice breaking through the soft volume of the radio.

Zuko blinked up at him tiredly, and quickly rubbed his thumb over the back of Sokka’s knuckles. The touch had Sokka’s blood humming quietly, and he did his best to ignore it - everything was so new, he didn’t want to move too fast, or hold too tightly. Besides, he needed to make sure they didn’t swerve - or worse, crash.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he whispered, a small smile on his lips and his honey-brown eyes piercing in the glow of the dashboard. “I promise. This will be really nice, actually.”

Sokka only nodded, and held his hand tighter. 

By the end of dinner, he could’ve sworn that his father had a new favorite twenty two year old man, and it wasn’t him. Sokka didn’t even try to hide it as he sat there beside Zuko in awe when his laugh filled the room and his smile shone with all the brilliance of the sun.

It was different, watching him interact with his family. There was a gentleness, a hope that glittered even brighter in his eyes than when they were alone together. Even though they’d only known one another for a few weeks, Sokka knew so much of this man beside him, who’d suffered so deeply despite his short life. He knew he loved his uncle dearly, but he also knew that Zuko craved more, craved a life full of love and family and laughter and memories that could be seen clear as a blue summer sky even when he was ninety years old and blind. And Sokka knew already that he’d do anything to give that life to him, to _make_ that life for him.

When Zuko excused himself to the restroom before leaving, Hakoda leaned across the table and folded his arms.

“You love him.” It was a statement, not a question.

Sokka felt the heat rush up his neck and into his cheeks as his grin threatened to split his face in half. “Is that what this is?”

Hakoda sighed softly, a nostalgic sheen in his eyes. “I see in you what I felt in myself. With your mother. With Bato.” He paused, watching his son carefully. “I see it in him too. The way home becomes less of a place, and more of a person.”

Sokka shifted in his seat as fissures spread through his smile. “But it’s so soon, I only met him a few weeks ago. We haven’t even _kissed_ yet, how can we already be there?”

“The heart has no timeline. Sometimes you just know that it’s right. And it will be right for as long as it’s meant to be. Don’t be afraid, Sokka. Trust yourself, and trust Zuko. You’ve been here a thousand times before, if your grandmother’s traditions have anything to say about it.” He smiled, putting a comforting hand on Sokka’s arm. “Trust yourself,” he repeated, giving him a small squeeze for good measure.

When Zuko returned, Hakoda bid them farewell at their cars, hugging them both, and the pair took a moment to just exist when the sound of the summer crickets was dulled by the closing of their doors.

“I really like your dad,” Zuko said a few moments later. His voice was soft, almost pained.

Sokka glanced over to him. “He really likes you, too.”

The sentiment made Zuko snort, and Sokka feared for a moment it was sarcastic, but then his expression softened as he took Sokka’s hand in his and kissed his knuckles, humming. “I’m glad.”

Sokka sighed gently at the new and exhilarating touch. He threaded their fingers together, leaning closer, aching for more and yet desperate to not scare him away. 

_Trust yourself_. 

“Zuko, these past few weeks have been…” he paused, searching for the right word. Great? Amazing? Perfect? No, they were _more_. They felt like memories reborn.

Zuko turned in his seat, smiling as he closed some of the distance between them, resting their joined hands on his thigh. “I know what you mean.”

His heart jumped in his chest - thank the spirits Zuko knew at least vaguely which direction this conversation was going, considering how he’d attempted to phrase his thought.

“You do?” Sokka whispered, the ghost of Zuko’s breath on his lips as he bent his head closer.

“Mmmhm.” Zuko paused, brown eyes on blue.

Sokka swallowed hard, the nearness to the man before him setting his very blood on fire and making his head spin. _Trust yourself. Trust Zuko_. Before the courage could seep from his bones, Sokka slid his hand from Zuko’s grasp and laid it on the back of his neck, pulling the man closer, and captured his lips in a soft kiss.

For a single second, Zuko paused, but it was enough to grab Sokka’s attention, to make his heart stutter and shatter. He tried to pull back, to give Zuko space as the depths of his mind screamed at him for making a mistake, for somehow misreading the signals, when suddenly Zuko wrapped his arms around Sokka’s neck and pulled him back in, crushing their lips together.

Sokka inhaled hard, gasping against his mouth, and Zuko used the moment to his advantage, darting his tongue out just enough to tease him before retreating, dragging a low growl from Sokka’s chest.

He pulled back just enough to catch his breath, and when he opened his eyes, Zuko was smirking. “You little minx,” he grumbled, a wide and affectionate grin on his face.

Zuko only cocked an eyebrow, and leaned in for more.

Minutes later, with mussed hair and marks already decorating each other’s necks, Sokka put a hand on his shoulders, gently pushing him back into his seat. “I don’t think… that here…” he said, panting.

Zuko nodded furiously. “Your place?” he asked, sliding his fingertips under the rolled cuff of Sokka’s sleeve, toying with the ripples in the muscle along his forearm.

Sokka took in a deep breath, begging his heart to calm. With a turn of the engine, he sent up a silent prayer to anyone who was listening to get them home safely.

Later, Sokka knew that someone had to be guarding them, had to be protecting them, because the only thing he could remember from the drive through the city and back to his apartment was Zuko’s hand on his thigh, and his breath on his neck, and the heat of him that warmed him to his core.

They raced into the building’s elevator as quickly as they could without making a scene, and when the doors shut in front of them, Zuko was fast to reach for him, but Sokka was faster. In an instant he’d pinned both of Zuko’s hands against the wall above his head and kissed his way up his neck. He moaned, deep and wanting, and the sound reverberated into Sokka’s body at every point of contact.

At the ding of their floor, Sokka dropped Zuko’s arms and stood beside him, miraculously looking like nothing had happened as he stepped into the hall and around an unsuspecting neighbor waiting for the lift, with Zuko on his heel.

Sokka fumbled with his keys, all too aware of the presence behind him that grabbed at his waist and pressed against him. Finally, the door swung open, and the two tumbled through in a swarm of tangled limbs, deep moans, and aching skin.

Zuko hurriedly stepped out his shoes, leaving them by the door as he wrapped his arms around Sokka’s neck and pulled him down in a kiss fierce enough to steal the last air from his lungs.

It was all too much, and not enough. Sokka’s skin felt frozen and aflame all at once, like he belonged to the sky and the sea and the sun and, above all, _Zuko_ , this man who’s touch burned and soothed in equal measure, with an instinctive attention and _knowing_ that ran so deep his family’s ancient traditions _had_ to be right - there was no other explanation. Not for this, this desire that roared and whined and begged for mercy and destruction both, that ached to be known not just once, but _again_ and _again_ and _again_ , for a millennium in any direction.

“Please, Zuko, I need to-” he gasped - “to know-” _Who are we? Who were we? Who will we become?_

And because he knew exactly what he meant, as though they’d been here a thousand times before, in a thousand different lifetimes, Zuko whispered, “Boyfriends?” a breathless edge to his voice that made Sokka’s blood thrum in his veins like ice and starlight, like smoke and wildfire.

Smiling against his lips, Sokka made quick work of the buttons on his shirt as he nudged Zuko backwards and into his bedroom, an incomprehensible knowledge whispering _Yes, and so much more_. 

“Boyfriends.”


End file.
